


big enough for the both of us

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, This is secretly OT5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 22:41:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1916682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall and Liam have a tendency of doing stupid things (Louis disclaims all responsibility, thanks), Zayn doesn't get enough sleep, Harry works in a bakery and somehow makes the time to steal Louis' notes, and Louis just wants to pass this test and stop saying his very-private-thoughts aloud.</p><p>They're kind of a mess but Louis likes to think they put the "fun" in "dysfunctional."</p>
            </blockquote>





	big enough for the both of us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [throughthedark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/throughthedark/gifts).



> The working title for this was, "Four Times Harry Styles was Dating Louis, and That Time That Louis Started Dating Back," but it got a bit unwieldy and I'm not a fan of that much capitalization.

When Louis blinked bleary eyes open, the clock was just done blinking 4:15. A groan that sounded more like a wounded dog tore at his throat, and he dropped his face back down to the pillow he'd been burrowed into. He wasn't even sure what had woken him up.

And then, gradually, the rest of the world began to filter into his senses:

The faint smell of mint and berries; the rushing sound of cars and trucks on the highway outside the flats that the five boys shared; the clattering of pots and pans in the kitchen, accompanied by low swears.

It was the last that had Louis getting out of bed, hauling himself limb by limb—he'd gotten in so late the night before that he wasn't sure it hadn't just been  _early_ , after all. But he knew that voice, and he could go back to sleep afterwards. He didn't have a lecture until later in the day, and not for the first time, Louis thanked all his lucky stars that he was in his third year at uni, and could pick his own schedule.

 _Of course_ , he mused, picking his way down the hall after throwing a big shirt over his boxers, _that just makes more time for working. But needs must, and we definitely need to be working._

They'd all decided to share a house, rather than live on-campus in the uni flats another year—where there was no guarantee that they'd be together, and too much of a guarantee that they'd be stuck in a place with others they didn't like that made it an easy decision. But that didn't make things  _easy_ , liking where they were. It just meant that they felt worse when they complained.

Their flat was big enough for the five of them, but that raised the rent; it had heating and air conditioning and electricity so long as they paid the bills; it had mold and sometimes bugs, and it was theirs.

That was sort of the exhausting part.

Stepping into the kitchen, he shaded his eyes with one hand, the harsh fluorescent lights uncomfortable after the hazy darkness of his room.

Standing at the stovetop, Harry glanced back at him. "Hi," he drawled, the warm smile lighting on his lips one that was just for Louis. "You're up early. I thought you'd be asleep until I got back later."

"I'm up late," Louis corrected. "I don't think I was that asleep, really."

The dark-haired man turned fully around, a faint frown pulling his brows together. "You got in really late, Lou," he said, "are you not sleeping again?"

Louis snorted, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around Harry's torso, tucking his chin into the crook of Harry's shoulder. Harry's already in his work uniform, the cheery nametag on his chest both proclaiming that he's  _there to help_! and digging into Louis' skin.

"Still," he corrected again, words muffled against Harry's neck.

He could feel it as Harry sighed, and shook his head again. "Don't say it," he warned, breathing in the Harry-scent that's as familiar as his own cologne: like baked bread and something expensive, and the mint tea that's Harry's favorite.

"Alright," Harry acquiesced reluctantly, and Louis pulled back. "I won't. But you should go back to sleep anyway. Aren't you studying with Eleanor later?"

Louis made a face. "Planning on it, soon's you get on the road."

Harry's eyes warmed, and he turned back to the kettle before it could whistle, pouring it into a waiting mug. "You don't need to."

"I want to."

Louis only barely refrained from rolling his eyes—and that was more due to exhaustion than anything else, he suspected—though it came across quite clearly in his voice. If the snort that Harry let slip was any indication, he'd heard it all the same.

He shrugged, though, saying only: "Suit yourself." Setting the strainer in the tea kettle—it was a music note that Louis had gotten from him their first Christmas at uni, and Louis' heart warmed at the sight—he stretched up, grabbing the bread from the cupboards above the stove.

Louis tore his gaze away from the pale sliver of skin that Harry's shirt revealed as he did so, mouth dry.  _Best friends_ , he reminded himself, and moved away—just in case.

"Babs working you hard at the bakery today?" He asked, voice a touch too casual.

But if Harry noticed, he didn't show anything in his bland: "Not too bad." A yawn interrupted his words; Harry shook his head after, as though to get rid of the lingering tiredness. "I like working opening shifts. They're—"

"—Peaceful, I know," Louis made a face. "So you've said."

Harry crinkled his nose. "Not my fault you like closing," he reminded the older boy, "but if you could just get used to getting up early—"

"Not happening," Louis interrupted again. "'nd the schedule I've got this term won't allow for it, anyway."

"I know," Harry shrugged. "I had to try anyway."

The chatter had concealed the deft movements of Harry's hands, constructed a sandwich with an easy familiarity that had Louis keeping his eyes carefully on the familiar profile that Harry presented him. If he watched the long fingers and graceful movements that Harry seemed effortlessly to manage—at least in little tasks like this—then he'd – well, do something. He wasn't sure what: it wasn't even five in the morning yet.

That was his excuse and he was sticking to it, damn it.

"I know," Louis repeated after him in a vague impression of an echo, and reached out, brushing his fingertips across the back of Harry's shoulder. Harry glanced over his shoulder, smiling at Louis. "It sucks, not seeing each other much."

"Yeah."

The word was simple, more an exhalation than anything else—a single syllable that held all of the thoughts that the two of them had said, and all that they hadn't:  _I miss you_  and  _only a little while longer_. Neither of them had an abundance of spare time, and more and more it seemed that what time they  _did_  have was opposite of the other.

It was maddening and frustrating, the way that Louis had gotten used to falling asleep to quiet breaths and waking up to silence. It was a far cry from the year before, when their schedules had matched up and Louis' mouth had shaped " _not_ dating" more times than he wanted to count. Not that he'd trade it out—a little bit of Harry, and the other boys, too, was better than nothing.

Harry coughed, breaking the silence that had stretched across the kitchen, and Louis looked up at him, arching his brows. "Do you want tomato on your sandwich today?"

And –  _bless_  Harry Styles.

It's not the first time that Louis' thought that, but the fervent adoration of the thought should probably be startling all the same. (It isn't. He's used to thinking so fondly of Harry that it could be called something else, if Louis had maybe a little bit more courage and a lot of tequila.)

Harry's the kind of boy who remembers that Louis doesn't like tomatoes all the time—only some of the time, he used to tell his mum, when the sky was blue and not gray or there had been a dinosaur in the parking lot puddles. He's the kind of boy who  _asked_  if Louis wanted them that day.

Maybe it's the exhaustion talking that had Louis' heart swelling three times larger.

"Not today," he answered, voice slightly strangled.

Harry nodded again, and closed the sandwich—

And Louis gave up, moved across the kitchen again to press a kiss to the nape of Harry's neck. "Thanks, babe," he whispered against warm skin.

It's quiet in the kitchen except for Harry's chuckles, vibrating through Louis' lips, and the taller boy turned so that he could wrap his arms around Louis' waist and press his forehead to Louis's. "Sure," Harry said in his normal way—where he says it slowly and adds so much meaning that Louis' throat tightened. "Of course."

Louis brushed a quick kiss against the corner of Harry's lips. "Have fun at work today," he said. "I'll see you tonight."

"You haven't got a shift tonight?"

"Yes," Louis admitted, "but I'm free until almost ten—so let's do dinner?"

Harry's grin was wide enough to be seen from space; in the early morning quiet of the kitchen, Louis thought rather fancifully that it was bright enough to blind. "It's a date."

The taller of the two turned, grabbing his lunch and mug of tea and—with a kiss to Louis' cheek—headed for the door.

"Get some sleep, Lou!" He called over his shoulder.

With a quiet grin playing on his lips, Louis went to do just that.

* * *

The light outside the library was waning as quickly as Louis' ability to pay attention to his notes was—or perhaps more so, he wasn't interested in drawing a graph and making the proper calculations. That was for people who didn't have a massive test hanging over their heads, and Louis, at least for that day, did not fall under that quality.

Sighing gustily, he leaned back in his chair, not entirely managing to pretend that he hadn't seen the look that Eleanor shot him. "Sorry, sorry," he murmured, lifting his hands to rub in circles at his temples. The headache he'd woken up with three days ago had yet to go away.

She shook her head, brown hair slipping over her shoulder. "Don't be," she replied crisply. "We've been here for hours. And we'll be here a while yet, I should imagine."

Louis groaned. "Right," he said, and gave up. "I'm taking ten minutes to not-think."

Eleanor grinned. "Good," she said, "because if you hadn't said that, I would have, and I've a reputation to maintain."

Louis snorted—Eleanor embodied the idea of a woman who went after what she wanted with the single-minded passion of someone to whom "no" was never the right answer. 

 _And that barely even made sense_ , he thought wryly,  _which is exactly how you can tell that I've lost my damn mind_.

"Your mind is still there," Eleanor said without looking at him (not that she needed to, to show that she was amused). "And yes, you said that out loud.  _Again_."

He blushed.

"Why do good things happen to bad people?" He asked, changing the topic.

Eleanor's eyes sparkled with amusement. "I think you've got that backwards, love," she said dryly.

Blue eyes slanted towards her. "Pretty sure I didn't," he said, adding a small smile to off-set the potential for bitterness that a combination of exhaustion and stress has added to his words.

She doesn't seem to take offense, though, only smiling again. "Sure, Lou," she said, then leaned forward to rap on the table with her knuckles. "Listen, I'm gonna go grab a coffee. Do you want one?"

Louis' eyes slid shut for a moment, considering. "Please," he said. "Extra caffeine."

"Shocker," she said with a laugh. "I'll try to make it taste as much like Yorkshire as possible."

"You, Eleanor Calder," Louis told her, "are a saint. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"Thanks," she said, and slipped away from the table, calling over her shoulder: "I'll tell them to say it to you, instead!"

He snorted in the quiet left behind of the library, grateful for the quiet room that they'd snagged that morning and, at the same time, wishing they were in the middle of the first floor. It might have been easier, had that been the case, to have focused on his work.

Still, and Louis leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms over his head, it hasn't gone all that horribly even so. The little texts from Harry had helped, as had the reminder that Zayn had sent him an hour ago that when they were done with all of this—when his last final examination was  _finally_  over—they were going out, and nothing would stop them.

His phone buzzed on the table, and he reached for it before he could convince himself not to—Eleanor's stern glances earlier had persuaded him that putting it away for a time would make it easier to focus. (It hadn't, but at least he'd focused on something  _other_  than his phone for a few hours.)

 **Haz:** Just saw El…. She looks frazzled.

Louis snorted, typing out a quick reply— _we both are, mate_ —and then setting his phone down on the table and his forehead next to it. The plastic-y surface was cool and he closed his eyes, pretending that this week was over and he could sleep for days.

(It was a fantasy—the fact that he had booked himself solid the next two weeks before heading home to Doncaster for the hols was entirely irrelevant.  _Sleep_  was entirely  _too_  relevant, and also entirely too lacking in his life lately. He could be forgiven for being a bit nonsensical, thank you ever so.)

His phone buzzed again.

 **Haz** : So I see. Open the door.

A frown creased between his brows for a long second as the blurry letters of the text resolved themselves into words again, and then he was shooting up from his chair, unlocking the door and wrapping his arms around the tall figure of Harry Styles.

" _Harry_ ," Louis said in obvious relief. "Hi."

Harry's lips curled into a grin, though the monotone he answered with was the same as always—not that Louis minded. He took rather a lot of pleasure in the knowledge that even the end of the world wouldn't frazzle Harry. "Hi, Lou," he said in return, and wrapped one arm around Louis' shoulders, leading him back into the room.

Once in there, Louis sat again—feeling rather pathetic, as he did so—and stared at Harry. Harry stared back, green eyes roaming over the other in a focused sort of manner that makes Louis shiver.

"Trying to decide how much you need to feed me tonight?" He teased.

Harry snorted. "Yep," he said, "it's not just El who looks frazzled."

Louis bristled a bit at that: " _Hey_ ," he said, and then reconsidered. ". . . I resemble that remark, don't I?"

A grin lit onto the other's face. "A bit," he said warmly. "Still gorgeous, of course."

Louis' cheeks warmed despite himself—they were  _friends_ , that was all, and if he could repeat it to all the somewhere-around-millions of people who'd asked him through the last two and a half years or so, then he could damn well repeat it to himself, too. "Flatterer," he shot back finally.

"Just telling the truth," Harry shrugged, and moved behind Louis, big hands settling on his shoulders.

The first squeeze of long fingers felt like heaven, and Louis didn't hesitate to moan aloud, relaxing with a sigh of relief added in for good measure.

" _God_ , Haz," he said. "I forgot how good you are at this."

A snort: "No, you didn't," Harry said. "You're always begging me to give you a rub."

Louis cackled a bit, though only half-heartedly; the long nights of working and a bit of studying, and long days of studying and a bit of work had caught up with him lately. "Am I?"

"I don't – that's not – " Harry sputtered. " _Louis_."

He sighed. "Only joking, Harry, you know that."

 _Mostly_ , he added to himself.

There was a silence, where Louis panicked that he'd said _that_ aloud, too, and then Harry muttered, "Yeah, I do know that. Now shut up and let me finish this so you can look human again."

" _Thanks_." Louis' voice was very dry and very warm, and his eyes closed against his will. "Love you, Haz," he added, unable to help it.

Harry's voice was just as warm. "Yeah, I know," he said. "Get this test over with so we can have fun again."

"Just 'cause you're done with all your exams…" Louis muttered, "s'easier being a music degree, innit?"

He couldn't see behind him, but the shrug that he  _knew_  Harry had just made was easily imagined. "Sure," Harry said. "Not my fault you decided you wanted to be a bloody pediatrician."

"Hopefully not bloody," Louis said. "Kids aren't any good when they're bloody."

"When  _are_  they any good?" Harry laughed.

Louis twisted his head, catching sight of the cheerfulness on Harry's face and shocking himself, a little, at the fondness that curled warm in his veins. "With catsup," he replied. "And baked for a little."

There's a pause, and then Harry snorted. "You're  _awful_."

"I'd feel worse about that if it sounded like you were trying to insult me, Styles," Louis sniffed, "I'll have you know that I'm quite wonderful, thanks."

Harry squeezed his shoulders again. "I know, Lou," he said quietly. "You really are. And you're going to ace this test, no problem."

Louis sighed, but before he could say anything, the door swung open again to reveal Eleanor, two cups of coffee in her hands and a determined tilt to her mouth.

"I told them to not put milk in there, but they – oh," she said, catching sight of the newest addition to the room, "Hello, Harry, how are you?"

Harry let go of Louis, moving to the side of him, pulling out a chair for Eleanor. Louis watched him do it with an almost-hysterical laugh bubbling in his throat. "Who says chivalry is dead?" He murmured.

Neither of the two appeared to hear him, though he caught the dimples in Harry's cheeks that meant he was suppressing a smile.

"I'm alright," Harry said instead, "Thanks. You look a bit tired, though—" He reached out, taking Louis' cup of coffee and handing it to the boy in question. "How long have you two been in here?"

Eleanor's eyes shut briefly. "Too bloody long," she said, and Louis agreed—just the fact that he wasn't going to mock her for swearing made that  _more_  than evident. "We've only got a last chapter to go through before we've covered everything, and then—"

"And then," Harry interrupted, "you're both coming over to the flat and relaxing."

"We should probably review one more time," she said uncertainly, dropping into her chair. "At least to – "

"El," Louis interrupted. "I physically cannot review one last time. One more chapter, okay? We're ready for this."

Next to him, Harry grinned brightly. "Exactly," he said, nodding, "and if Louis says you are, then you are."

Eleanor snorted. "You put far too much stock in his words," she directed at Harry, though brown eyes sparkled at Louis all the same. Louis glanced away; he knew what Eleanor thought of the two of them, and didn't want to encourage her to go off on that with Harry _here_ , thanks. "But it sounds lovely. I accept."

"Great," Harry chirped, and draped himself into the seat next to Louis. "I'll wait for you to finish, then."

"It's awful boring," Louis warned, the sips of coffee he'd already taken, while tasting bloody horrible, doing the trick already. "You'll fall asleep."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe I'll learn something."

"Unlikely," Eleanor muttered, "it's all nonsense to  _me_  as it is."

Louis pushed the textbook at her. "Stop putting yourself down," he said firmly. "You're head of the class and you know it."

She met his gaze. "Below you," she said frankly.

He blinked, but before he could refute it, Harry, rolling his eyes, said, "Get on with the studying. I left Niall in the kitchen and I'd rather not come back to the fire brigade called."

Louis blanched. "Right, then," he said, and pulled his own textbook to himself. "The art of re-breaking bones, chapter fifty million…"

Eleanor's laughter pealed out into the room, and he grinned down at his book, skimming over the vocabulary in the margins.

He  _did_  know this stuff, thank God, and it was easier than ever to focus on it.

That was due more to the coffee than to Harry's bright presence next to him, Louis reassured himself, marking down the definition of a word he didn't know and striking out that of one that he did know.

Beneath the table, Harry entangled his feet with Louis'—who let him—and smiled down at his phone.

* * *

He woke up in the morning with the uncomfortable feeling that he was late for something, only to realize that he wasn't  _late_ , exactly, so much as he had a test that day and the two feelings were apparently very similar.

It had been a while since he'd been this nervous over an examination, but he supposed that, considering it was a stupidly important one for his degree, he was allowed to be a bit nervous.

Dragging himself out of the room he shared with Harry—who was at work already, he knew—Louis wrapped his duvet around his shoulders and padded towards the kitchen. Most of his roommates spent their spare time in there rather than the living room; with a couch Louis suspected  _ate_  people (or at least things) and a cranky cactus that Niall had brought back from a trip to California, the place wasn't the friendliest.

"Has anyone seen my notes?" He asked, and then stopped, eyeing the gathering of people in the centre of the kitchen.

Zayn was the only one who answered—probably because he wasn't engaged in whatever whispering Niall and Liam were doing. Louis ignored the suspicious fluttering in the back of his head: he was sure that the two of them could take care of themselves just fine.

(Of course, he'd thought that the last time they'd done something like this, and then Niall had gone and broken his wrist trying to paddleboard in the middle of October, so maybe that wasn't the most reasonable thought. It was just that he didn't think he could handle more worry at the moment, and also, he didn't want to be tempted into joining them—Harry had been mad enough at Niall, but when Louis had been the one to break his collarbone skateboarding behind the car that Liam had driven, he'd been furious.

(Louis was  _not_  a fan of a furious Harry.))

"Harry took them with him," he said, dark eyes trained on the other two. "Said he wanted to make sure you actually ate this morning, so you've got to go to the bakery."

Louis groaned despite the warmth that curled in his stomach. "You didn't try and stop him?"

Zayn wrenched his gaze away from the impending self-destruction long enough to give Louis a withering glare. "Because  _you're_  so good at saying no to Harry?"

Shifting his weight, Louis rolled his own eyes. "Wanker."

"You love it," Zayn said dismissively. "Go get dressed and get some food in you, Lou, you look like you need it."

"No one loves me in this house," Louis told the doorway as he headed to do just that. "I am  _besieged_  with hatred."

"Drama queen!" Zayn's voice followed after him, and despite himself, Louis found a smile lurking on his own lips.

Dressing quickly, Louis brushed his teeth and tried—and failed—to arrange his hair into something that suggested 'confident about this test' rather than 'I had a nightmare that I failed and was laughed at,' and then headed back to the kitchen.

Liam and Niall were still muttering together, though they'd at least migrated to the small island that had been one of the few pros to renting the flat. Zayn's face had changed from 'faintly concerned' to 'outright worried,' and Louis winced.

"They won't kill themselves," he said with more certainty than he felt, grabbing his keys from the bowl next to Zayn and a sip of his tea, too. " _Ugh_ , but your tea might kill  _me_. How much sugar do you need, Zayner?"

The disdain in Zayn's eyes was enough to have him laughing aloud.

"You laugh," Zayn hissed, snatching back his mug and cradling it to him. "But they are  _cohorts_. And they reflect off each other!"

Louis' brows rose. " . . . Have you slept, lately?" He asked.

"Have  _you_?" Zayn shot back.

He winced. "Point," Louis conceded. "Alright, well, try and get some sleep. Don't worry about them, they really  _won't_  kill themselves—" He raised his voice "—Since we can do that just fine  _for_  them if they go making a mess of their bones again."

Niall and Liam's heads turned towards him simultaneously. Louis refrained from flinching: the excitement and not a little bit of madness that lit their eyes was a mixture that he had joyfully added himself into heedlessly in the past, but his collarbone still ached when it stormed, so.

Probably best to avoid  _that_ particular minefield.

"Don't worry about  _us_ ," Niall said, gesturing expansively to himself and his—what was the word Zayn had used?—cohort. "We'll be fine."

"I've heard that before," Zayn muttered from next to him.

Liam barked a laugh. "This time we mean it," he reassured Zayn, who looked—contrarily—far from comforted. "We're only planning out what we're doing after Louis finishes his exam."

"Drinking," Louis said flatly. "I want to forget everything I had to learn."

Niall's grin was dangerous, and Louis found himself backing away almost instinctively. "That can be made to happen," he said cheerfully.

Louis nodded slowly. "… Right, then," he said. "Well. I'm going to go get food, and then take this test, and then drink. So."

Both Niall and Liam grinned at him, and Louis backed away, patting Zayn on the back. "Go sleep," he advised, "plausible deniability, and all that."

Zayn's snort followed him out to the car that the five of them shared, and he was grinning as he drove to the bakery—whatever happened in his exam, at least he would have some interesting stories to hear over the next few weeks.

The grin lasted all the way until he walked into the bakery and saw Harry's manager at the counter, flipping lethargically through a magazine and devotedly ignoring Louis.

"… Grimshaw," Louis said finally, coughing.

Only then did the man's eyes rise to meet his gaze, an eyebrow arching in obvious disdain. "Tomlinson," Grimshaw said languidly. "You were supposed to be here a half hour ago."

Louis blinked. "Was I?"

A frown crossed the other man's face. "According to your boyfriend, you were."

"He's  _not_  my boyfriend," Louis said automatically (ignoring, with the ease of long practice, the voice in the back of his head that asked _why not?_ ), then stopped: "Wait, why?"

Nick's eyes were knowing, though his tone was as sardonic as ever. "Because that was when Harry had your breakfast warm, Tomlinson, don't be a dunce. As it is, it's cold now."

"Of course it is," Louis muttered, and moved away from the door only when it chimed behind him, a pair of older women fluttering their way into the shop.

"Ms Williamson," Nick's voice was ingratiatingly cheerful, and Louis winced, "And you've brought a friend!"

Louis tuned him out in favor of gathering his books from next to the register, a plate stacked on top of them with his favorite biscuits piled high.

A smile curled over his lips when he saw the note on top of it all.

**You'll kick arse today, Lou. Text me when it's over and I'll have a martini waiting for you.**

**H xx**

* * *

The first thing Louis did when he finished his exam was sit on a wall and smoke three cigarettes in a row, even though he's not big on the taste and knew the smell won't leave his hair for three days.

Well, that wasn't true.

The  _very_  first thing that Louis did when he finished his exam was type out a quick text to Harry that's jumbled and nonsensical (he thinks he uses the turtle emoji, actually, which. Okay). The first thing he did besides  _that_  was smoke three cigarettes.

He thinks he could be forgiven for the smell because he planned to supplant it with alcohol—not much more pleasant, but at least it runs less chance of him dying of lung cancer before he's thirty, as Harry was fond of reminding him.

(Harry was equally as fond of telling him that he doesn't look as cool as Zayn when he smokes, which would be a very good reason not to do it if Louis wasn't half-convinced that  _no one_  looks as cool as Zayn when they smoke. He was  _more_  than half-convinced that Zayn was not human or, alternatively, posing as a mostly-broke uni student for a magazine ad or TV show.)

Stubbing the last one out on the brick beneath him, Louis tilted his head back to the sky and smiled, breathing for what feels like the first time in  _days_.

Maybe it was.

He was pretty sure that was not physically possible, but then he'd also been doing his best to forget physical impossibilities for the next few weeks—or at least until his next anatomy class begins and he actually had to remember what he'd learned this term.

He stood and headed to the car, nodding at Eleanor—who, just now leaving the lecture hall, looked half as frazzled as Louis was sure that he had, and even less likely to smoke three cigarettes.

(Louis was pretty sure El would look very close to as cool as Zayn if she  _did_  smoke, though. He's not sure why he'd never dated her, except that she frequently makes him feel inadequate next to her terrifying capability at just about everything, and also she doesn't have a dick.)

(That last one was pretty important, actually.)

God. He wasn't even drunk—yet—and he was not thinking clearly.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and when he pulled it out, several texts have come through—

Setting the key in the ignition, he flipped through them idly. Some of them were sent during the exam that he hadn't bothered to look at, and it's those that he more or less ignores—Niall had sent a " **sorry!** " that worried him, but he set it aside for the time being.

 **Zayn:**  Hurry up and get home so I can drink Louis god

 **Haz:** Congrats on finishing! I've got a beer waiting for you—no martini, sorry : ( xx

 **Zayn:**  H said the martini was for u. . . . Aha, sorry : )

 **Zayn:** Just kidding, there wasn't a martini ur boyfriend's lying to u

 **Haz:**  (There's vodka, though!)

 **Haz:**  Really really proud of you, Lou.

 **Haz:** I know you kicked arse on that test.

 **Haz:** We'll celebrate tonight .xx

The grin stayed on his lips the whole way home, despite the traffic, and was still there when he opened the door to Zayn massaging his temples and Harry, sitting beside him and looking as though he'd been run over.

"… What's going on?" Louis attempted, frowning.

Harry's eyes warmed when he looked over, and he stood, striding over to Louis before wrapping his arms around him.

"You're done!" He said, rough and low in Louis' ear, and Louis was unable to prevent a shiver from coursing down his spine. "Congrats, Louis, I really am proud of you."

Louis grinned at him easily, disentangling himself from Harry despite the small voice in the back of his head shouting at him for doing it.  _Just friends_ , he reminded himself for what feels like the millionth time in a row.  _Just friends, Jesus_.

"I am," he said easily, "Now tell me what's going on."

There's a silence, and faint horror dawned on Louis. "Tell me," he said with a note to the words that sounds almost like pleading, "that this has nothing to do with the vague apology that Niall texted me."

Neither Zayn nor Harry would look at them, and Louis scrubbed his hands down his face. "Lovely," he said to his palms. "What did they do?"

It's Zayn who answered: Harry has slung an arm around Louis' shoulders, taking his bag and guiding him to the chairs. "TP'ed your room," he said. "With, erm."

"Pink duct tape," Harry finished, amusement sparkling behind the annoyance in his eyes. "There's pink duct tape  _everywhere_."

Louis blinked at them for a moment.

"So," he said, "No one's injured?"

The two shake their heads. (If Zayn mutters, " _besides being mentally scarred for life_ ," then Louis ignored him.)

"No one went surfboarding in the Thames or bungee jumping off the Big Ben?"

Another shake of their heads.

"Right," Louis said firmly, "They we'll worry about the—erm—pink duct tape tomorrow."

Harry laughed. "Good plan," he said, "that's what I told Zayn, but he was, uh, freaked out."

"There's a  _lot_  of pink," Zayn said by way of explanation. "We had them clean up most of it."

Louis arched his eyebrows, laughed a little, and shook his head. He wasn't quite sure  _what_  to say to that, except that he didn't think anything would work, and—with a decisive mental nod—puts it out of his mind.

"Alright, then," he said, "Where's my drink?"

Harry turned around, coming back with two beers in one hand. Louis' mouth went dry—Harry's hands were, admittedly, deft and nimble and a  _serious_  weakness of Louis'. "Right here," Harry said, "cheers, mate. You're done with term!"

Louis twisted the cap off, tilting the neck of the bottle to clink with Harry's, and then brought it to his lips, taking a large gulp.

"To finishing the term," he said wearily. "And not dying."

Zayn snorted, sidling past them. "Not yet, anyway," he muttered dourly. "But that can be changed, oh yes it can."

Louis held his breath until Zayn had left the room—but when he met Harry's eyes, bright green dancing with unrestrained amusement, the laughter left him in a loud burst of it. It was almost hysterical sounding, really, but he didn't care except to put his bottle on the counter.

He wasn't dropping the beer.

And three hours later, when he was pleasantly buzzed and tumbling into a cab with the rest of the boys—two of whom had agreed to buy him all the drinks he wanted to make up for  _duct taping his room_ —he curled up against Harry and smiled into the curve of his neck.

"Haz," he whispered, closing his eyes against the flashing lights of the streets outside the taxi. "Haz, hey."

Harry turned his head slowly, warm breath ghosting over Louis' face. They were so close that Louis could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, and, unbidden, the memories of the last time they'd been so close flashed through his mind.

* * *

_New Years' Eve, and Louis was drunk, and Harry was drunk, and the world was a little drunk—because there was no other reason for them to be laughing so much when the world was going to hell, anyway, but God knew that Louis liked it just the way it was._

_And the party was large and the five of them were circled in front of a clock, the ticking pulsing along to Louis' heartbeat. Zayn was on one side and Harry on the other; Liam had an arm wrapped around Niall's shoulders, though Louis wasn't sure who was holding up whom._

_Somewhere behind them all of their other friends were gathered, but Louis didn't care—not right then, maybe not ever, because the five of them were all he needed, weren't they?_

_Niall was the sun and Liam was the storms that came without warning and cleared the air; Zayn was the night that showcased its work in stars and constellations; and Harry—God, Harry was the oxygen that Louis needed just to breathe._

_God, Louis was drunk._

_He curled closer into Harry, who turned to face him, and Louis noted with a start that his eyes—_

" _Your eyes are gold," he said stupidly._

_Harry laughed; his breath smelled like the vodka martinis they'd drank earlier in the night. Louis had consumed more, but Harry was no lightweight, and it had been a competition._

" _They're green."_

" _No," Louis said, stubborn, "There's – there's gold there, too."_

_Impulsively, he flung his arms around Harry's neck, their faces so close together that their carbon dioxide combined. Louis wondered if that was a metaphor, and then when he had turned into Zayn without noticing. "I like it," he confided to Harry's chin._

_Harry's hand had lifted slowly, showing in the corners of Louis' vision as though asking for permission—and then, when it was not denied—moving to Louis' own chin, drawing it upwards so that their eyes met._

_What Louis saw took his breath away._

_From the moment they'd met, they'd been close—but this, this was more than close; this was something that Louis didn't have words for, but even in a mind muddled with alcohol, it freaked him the hell out._

_Freaked him out, but he didn't move away._

_He'd been wrong, then—Harry was the sun, not Niall, and his gravity was enough to keep Louis still._

" _I like you," Harry said in a voice made slower than normal by liquor; and Louis closed his eyes._

_Around them, cheers went up –_

_A countdown started –_

_And the two of them ignored it, blue eyes locked on green._

_Ten._

_Louis breathed in raggedly, watching as Harry mirrored him._

_Nine._

" _Lou," Harry's lips shaped without sound; more an exhalation than anything else._

_Eight._

_Louis hesitated._

_Seven._

" _Yeah, Haz," he said, his heart thudding so hard that surely—_ surely _—Harry could hear it over the music and the crowd and the sounds of the world spinning by them._

_Six._

_Five._

_Louis' fingers slid into Harry's hair, and Harry's eyes fluttered shut._

_Four._

_The warmth in Louis' heart spread to his fingers, his stomach, and he sucked in a breath as though he were drowning. (He wasn't sure that he_ wasn't _.)_

_Three._

_Two._

_For a moment, the world hung, suspended, and Louis wondered what it would be like to kiss Harry. Mind-blowing, he suspected; earth-shattering; incredible; amazing; not enough._

_But he liked his mind together and the world complete, and he didn't want to need something that wasn't oxygen (and Harry_ wasn't _oxygen, no matter what he told himself through metaphors that didn't make sense.)_

_He didn't want to drown, yet. Ever._

_And Louis wrenched away as the cheers sounded even louder than ever, throwing himself at Niall with a leap that startled the blond and landed them both on the floor._

_When he got up the courage to look back at Harry, he was laughing with everyone else, a flute of champagne held high in the air._

* * *

They hadn't ever mentioned that night—Louis had made it a point to say that he barely remembered the night, Zayn had said that made sense, and Harry had fucked someone else the next night.

"Lou?" Harry said in front of him, wide eyes fixed on him.

Louis blinked. "Nothing," he muttered, and pulled back a bit. "Just – you know. Thanks. For all of this."

Harry's lips curled up in a soft smile. "'Course," he said easily. "You've been stressed for—for weeks, Louis, just wanted to do something nice f'you."

The only sign that Harry was as drunk as Louis was the slurring of his consonants—green eyes ( _with flecks of gold_ , a traitorous mind whispered) sparkle at him just the same as always, and, as Louis looked back, his heart twisted abruptly.

"You're the best," he told Harry quietly, and curled back into him again.

That New Year's Eve had been almost three years ago, now, and there'd never been a problem in their friendship before.

He wasn't going to start  _making_  it a problem now.

Not when they're in a car with the other boys, not when he's not sure what he wants, anyway.

And they're at the club, as it is, so Louis put it out of his head and a smile on his lips—which wasn't hard, really, when Niall put up bunny ears behind Liam as he stopped to talk to a girl in the line—and orders a martini at the bar, grinning at Harry.

The night was more a blur than anything else, and Louis  _liked_  it like that. Events came in flashes.

He blinked and was in the bathroom, holding onto Harry, who was laughing—

He was dancing with Harry and Niall was around somewhere with a girl, and Harry was holding his hips and trying to be coordinated and Louis couldn't stop laughing, either—

Harry's lips brushed against his cheek and Louis' blood felt like it was on fire—

He went to the bathroom by himself and vomited, unable to explain why his cheek was a brand he never wanted to get rid of—

Liam stood outside the door and handed him a drink without asking any questions, steering him towards a table in the back—

The table that he sat at with Zayn had some sort of red substance on it and Louis was telling Zayn that it was blood and almost had him convinced when Zayn stilled, eyes narrowing over his shoulder—Louis turned and it was Harry, talking to a girl with his ear close to her mouth and eyes half shut in concentration.

That was how he looked when he wanted to get laid. Louis had seen that pose often enough, over the years, though recently—recently, he hadn't seen it at all.

And his heart wrenched and oh  _God_.

The pieces slid into place with a  _click_  that Louis thought, somewhat frenetically, should have been audible to everyone else, shouldn't it have? He swallowed hard. Oh God.

"Oh,  _God_ ," Louis said aloud.

Zayn glanced at him, frowning. "What?"

"Zayn," Louis said weakly. "Zayn. How long have I been in love with Harry?"

Across from him, several emotions played over Zayn's face—surprise, annoyance, and, finally, resignation. "About three years," he said.

Louis leaned back in his seat weakly. All the bones in his body seemed to have turned to jelly.

"At least," Zayn added, "that's how long I've noticed it."

He was too drunk for this.

"I'm too drunk for this," Louis said.

He still couldn't think straight, still turned enough to see Harry start to head away from the girl and towards them, and—for a moment—Louis panicked.

" _Zayn_ ," he hissed, "why didn't you  _tell_  me?"

"Oh, Lou," Zayn's eyes were warm. "I thought you knew."

"What did Louis not know?" Harry asked, sliding into the table; he set an arm around Louis and a glass of water on the table. "Drink that, Lou, it'll help the hangover tomorrow."

 _Apparently_ , Louis thought and took a sip of water,  _there's a lot I don't know. Why the sky is blue, how to finish my degree without drowning in debt and work, and_ , he set the water down on the table harshly _, how I didn't know I was in love with you_.

Next to him, Harry stilled. "—What?" He breathed. "Louis,  _what_?"

"Oh God," Louis' eyes were wide. "Oh God, I said that aloud."

He only faintly registered Zayn slipping out of the booth across from them, more preoccupied with how his hands were shaking and Harry was staring at him as though he'd never seen him before.

"Yeah," Harry said faintly. "Yeah, you did."

"Right." Louis scrubbed his palms over his face, took a large gulp of water. "Um."

 _Fuck_ , his hands wouldn't stop shaking.

"Er," he tried again— _let's just forget it, just forget I said anything, I'm such an idiot, I'm so sorry_ —

Harry interrupted him. "D'you mean it?"

Louis' eyes flew to him, one of his legs bouncing under the table. Harry's hand moved, gripped his thigh tightly.

It wasn't  _Louis_ ' fault that the feeling made him shiver.

"Yeah," he said roughly. "Yeah, I mean it. I mean," slightly hysterically, "I only figured it out about—like—three minutes ago, but." He shrugged, unable to meet Harry's eyes and instead looking somewhere over by his left ear. "I think I've – been in love with you for a while."

"You think?" Harry's voice was as calm as ever, though Louis—Louis had  _practice_  at reading Harry, okay, and he was drunk but he wasn't  _that_  drunk—Louis heard the nerves under the words.

It was that— _Harry was nervous? Harry was never nervous_ —more than anything that had him finally wrenching his gaze to Harry's.

What he saw there took his breath away.

There was no annoyance, or anger—just a joy so immense that it looked something like  _fear_ , and Louis' hands stilled in his lap.

"I know it," he said more surely. "I just – didn't want to say it."

His lips twitched. "I saw you talking to that girl, and I just – it  _hit_ , like really hard, like a – like a bloody truck, and then – " Louis grimaced. "I'm drunk and it came out."

"You are drunk," Harry said, and reached out, grabbed Louis' hands with his own. "So'm I."

"Yeah," Louis said. "Yeah." He looked down at where Harry's hands entwined with Louis', wondering if they'd always looked that good together or if it was a recent thing. "I mean it, though."

Harry sucked in a ragged breath. "Okay," he said.

And then: "Okay," Louis repeated.

A grin curled over his lips despite the pounding of his heart against his ribcage.

"So," Louis started, and leaned a little closer to Harry. "If that's all okay – "

Harry cut him off with his lips, and frankly, that was probably a good thing—because Louis hadn't been sure what he was going to say, only that it was probably going to be utterly ridiculous and also stupid.

But that didn't  _matter_  now, not when Harry's lips were as soft as Louis had always thought (had never admitted to thinking); not when he swept his tongue along the crease of Louis' mouth as though asking permission, and, when Louis sighed and opened his lips,  _took_  all Louis had and more.

When they parted, Louis was breathing hard and felt as though he'd been walking on the moon. He wasn't sure if that was part of an extended metaphor or not—he wasn't the English major in the dysfunctional family they'd built—but didn't want to examine it long.

Harry's mouth was an obscene shade of red and his cheeks were pink and his eyes were so green that the gold was even bright than normal.

Louis was so, so fucked.

"Haz," he murmured, lifting his hand to press this thumb lightly to Harry's lower lip.

Harry shuddered, eyes falling closed.

"Let's go home," Louis said, still softly. "Let's – I want to get out of here."

Green eyes opened hazily. "Now?"

His lips curled into a smirk, dropping his hand to Harry's crotch and pressing just hard enough to feel the outline of Harry's cock through the denim—thank God Harry wore the jeans he did, or it'd be impossible, maybe.

" _Now_ ," Louis said firmly.

Harry made a needy sound that went straight to Louis' own prick, and stood so hastily, dragging Louis with him, that Louis' head spun.

The taxi ride was too long and not long enough, with Harry's lips moving over Louis' neck greedily, and Louis bucked up under him, tugging at Harry's lips, his mind whirling.

He was drunk, but not as drunk on alcohol as he was on _Harry_ , and he'd meant it—

He had meant  _I love you_  when Harry had stood in the kitchen with him at five in the morning and asked how he wanted his sandwich, and when he had showed up at the library and made sure he'd eaten a healthy dinner and breakfast; when Harry had laughed over pink duct tape and when he'd almost kissed him at New Year's, three years ago.

Maybe it was that his exam was done and Louis was giddy on the feeling of being done with classes for three weeks, but the fear that had been there three years ago had disappeared.

He  _lived_  with Harry—knew him inside and out, from how he took his tea to the fact that he never wore matching socks, and this. . .

This was just another way of knowing him, maybe, and it probably should have freaked him out that he had said 'I love you' and Harry hadn't, but he was a bit busy trying not to come in his pants right then and there.

The driver probably wouldn't have appreciated it, for one.

They tumbled out of the car—Louis paid absently—and up the stairs to the flat that was so,  _so_ shitty, into their room, and then—

And then stood there, eyes dark and cheeks pink and looking at each other as though, Louis thought, it was the first time they'd seen the other.

For a moment, Louis was so nervous he couldn't breath, and then Harry moved in a graceful way that Louis had never seen before, pushing Louis onto the bed and sinking to his knees in a single motion.

"Oh,  _fuck_ ," Louis swore, "No, babe, c'mon – "

Harry glanced up at him from where his fingers were fumbling at Louis' jeans button, a question in his eyes.

"Your knees," Louis said, "you'll hurt your knees – "

For a moment, Harry looked uncomprehending—and then he stood up, pushed Louis more onto the bed and, hovering over him, kissed him so hard that Louis saw stars.

"Fuck my knees," Harry said, voice rough and eyes dark, tugging at his jeans. Louis hadn't even realized he had unbuttoned his jeans, unzipped them, too, and lifted his hips, glad that he'd gone without pants that day.

Harry's eyes darkened more, and he swiped a pink tongue over his lip. Louis' thoughts short-circuited just for a moment, as Harry bent over, breath hot on the tip of his prick, and then stopped, glancing up.

"I didn't tell you," he said as casually as though he weren't centimetres away from Louis' cock and what felt like  _maybe_  thirty seconds away from blowing Louis' goddamn mind (and he wanted it blown, this time— _hah_ , joke, that was funny, maybe). "But I love you, too."

Before Louis could even  _begin_  to process that, he'd gripped Louis' prick firmly and sunk down on it without a gag, and he stopped thinking at all in favor of remembering how to breathe.

* * *

The sun shone through the window brightly, and Louis groaned, flinging an arm up over his eyes—he thought he'd fixed the blinds so that they wouldn't bother him in the mornings. In fact, he distinctly remembered adding a board onto one side so that he wouldn't wake up when Harry did, who often said that until the winter got really started, the sun was just as good as an alarm clock.

Also it smelled more strongly like Harry than it normally did—maybe he'd sprayed his cologne in the room. And he didn't remember his sheets being this soft; Louis was fond of the crackly feeling of lower thread counts in favor of having a well-formed pillow under his head.

When he finally cracked one eye open, though, it made sense.

He wasn't even in his bed.

He was in Harry's.

Without even realizing it, a smile found its way onto his lips, and Louis breathed in deeply.

The events of the night before flooded in, and he swung a hand over, searching for Harry. The bed was cold, and he sat up straight before he'd even noticed that he was moving.

Had Harry had second thoughts?

 _Louis_  sure as hell hadn't—even the hangover was tolerable, knowing that they'd—

He grinned.

No regrets.

Drawing his hand back to his side in confusion, something crinkled, and he paused, brows drawing together. It was a piece of paper, and he dragged it out to see it more clearly, holding it a little farther away from him than he would have had he left his contacts in.

**Lou –**

**Come by the bakery and I'll give you a sweet cake or something. Sorry to leave you in bed—it wasn't easy. But someone's got to bring home the money….**

**H .xx**

Laughing beneath his breath, Louis swung his legs out of the bed, then stood carefully—his head spun but there was no resultant nausea pushing for his attention, and the smile on his lips only grew larger.

He hummed a little as he dragged a pair of clean jeans on and Harry's shirt, noting with faint disapproval that his collarbones were blatantly on display—but shrugged. It wasn't his fault that Harry was a giant.

Leaving the bedroom, he found Niall in the kitchen, singing a loud tune and frying eggs in a skillet.

His brows arched. "Get laid, Nialler?" Louis asked, nodding towards the two cups of tea set out on the counter.

The grin he got in return was distinctly roguish. "Bet your arse," Niall said cheerfully. "Beautiful woman in my bed, waiting on some tea and eggs."

"Poor Liam," Louis began to roll his eyes, then paused, wincing, at the surge of headache, and moved to grab a glass of water and paracetamol.

"Eh," Niall shrugged. "Zayn went home with some chick, so Liam went over to his room."

"Good, good," Louis murmured, tossing back pills and water as quickly as possible.

"Yeah," Niall's gaze sharpened. "You're in an awfully good for someone who  _didn't_  get laid last night…"

Louis' grin was almost a smirk. "Who says I didn't?" He asked, grabbing the keys and tossing them from hand to hand.

"Well, you and Haz were both in your room last night. . . " Niall said slowly.

Louis laughed aloud, and repeated, "Who says I didn't get laid?"

As comprehension dawned in Niall's eyes, Louis headed towards the door, tossing over his shoulder: "Tell Zayn if he texts me where he is, I'll pick him up!"

Behind him, there was an: "Yeah, alright –  _Hey! Louis!_ "

Louis trotted down the stairs of the complex, snickering to himself, and swung into the car easily. The radio clicked on as the engine turned over and, humming to himself, Louis drove the car out of the parking lot.

It was second nature to drive to the bakery—he'd been doing so since Harry had gotten the job, picking him up in the afternoons and dropping him off when he worked at a more humane hour. On a Saturday morning, few people were in the streets save the runners and bikers who Louis was sure were crazy, doing what they were, but they didn't bother him except to flick dirty glances his way when he didn't give proper indication of turning.

And that was probably a good thing, since Louis was barely focusing on what he was doing, nerves vibrating down his spine.

Harry had  _said_  to come to the bakery—and that it had been hard to leave Louis—but what if he'd changed his mind? What if, away from the liquor and Louis, he had decided that he didn't love him after all, and wanted to run away and join a circus or a band or, or something. . .

Nibbling on his lower lip—bruised, from the night before—Louis parked messily. He sat in the car for a long moment, staring up at the bakery's sign as though that would give him answers.

He took a deep breath. Alcohol had made him brave the night before—or dumb—but he was just as brave (or dumb) without it as he was with it, and he had to prove that eventually, he supposed.

Locking the car behind him, he opened the door of the shop, the bell overhead tinkling as he stepped in.

Nick Grimshaw was at the register again, and he glanced up, surprise barely registering on his face. "Looking for your boyfriend, I suppose," he said dryly.

Behind him, Harry stepped out into the doorway, wiping his hands on a rag—the happiness that filled his eyes when he caught sight of Louis wiped away every doubt that he'd just been thinking.

No one could look that happy and have had second thoughts.

"Yeah, Grimshaw," Louis said without looking away from Harry. "I am, actually."

Harry's laughter filled the bakery. 

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was a Uni AU where they were poor and leaning on each other while hiding their feelings. . . So while this isn't entirely the same thing, I hope this is okay all the same! xxxx


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